Desperately
by Merenwen Luinwel
Summary: What was that awful saying? Opposites attract. Metaphysically speaking, opposites repelled. She wanted the soul mate kind of love. Hermione knew she felt that way about someone – but he definitely wasn't Ron. DH spoilers BEWARE!


Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape or form J.K.Rowling. I own nothing, but am writing for fan pleasure and intend on making no profit from this fiction. Don't sue me because you won't get much and the judge will likely roll his eyes anyway.

Ship: Harry and Hermione

Spoilers: Book Seven!! Do not read if you do not want to know a part of the story!

* * *

_Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own._

"_Protego!" she cried, and invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Harry felt a corrosive hatred toward Ron: Something had broken between them._

"_Leave the Horcrux," Harry said._

_Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turn to Hermione._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Are you staying or what?"_

"_I …" she looked anguished. "Yes- yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help –"_

"_I get it. You choose him."_

"_Ron, no – please – come back, come back!"_

_She was impeded by her own Shield Charm: by the time she had removed it he had already stormed into the night. Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron's name amongst the trees._

_After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face._

"_He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"_

_She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry._

_Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron's bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed into his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain._

_(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p. 309-310)_

Hermione took a deep breath as the sobs subsided. She pulled the blankets around her closer; she had been disappointed that that was all Harry had done. She knew he was hurt, angry, and betrayed; she felt that way too. And Harry had never been the kind to talk about his feelings.

_You choose him._ Those words echoed in Hermione's mind. The choice wasn't hard to make. It's not that she enjoyed hurting Ron, she knew he always had an issue with being second best, especially to Harry Potter, and yet Hermione knew that Harry and the mission to find the Horcruxes and destroy them was far more important than any relationship she might have had with Ron. After all, if Harry fails, there would be no possibility of her having any relationship.

Not that their relationship had been much. Ron had changed around her, as if he were actually trying to make a go at it, but it had always seemed somewhat forced. Fake even. Everything she did with him was strained and Hermione knew why: they just weren't suited for each other and frankly didn't belong together.

Sure they could try it out and probably last a few months before she seriously considered hexing him to death, but it wasn't _love_. Not the kind of love Hermione wanted anyway. She wanted the soul mate, meant to be together kind of love. And Ron just wasn't her soul mate.

What was that awful saying? _Opposites attract._ Metaphysically speaking, opposites repelled. And honestly, were fights and constant bickering anything to base a healthy relationship off of? A healthy relationship, the kind that usually leads to the soul mate kind of love, starts off with a solid friendship – the one where you do everything in your power to protect them and keep them happy, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness, standing by them when no one else will, not because you feel you should, but because you really and truly believe in him, and above all, being so connected that at times you feel like you're one person – when your thoughts mesh so perfectly that you finish each other's sentences and know what they're thinking without saying any words.

Hermione knew she felt that way about someone – but he definitely wasn't Ron.

Honestly, Hermione wasn't stupid; she was the brightest damn witch Hogwarts had seen in years! So this kind of thing shouldn't be too hard to figure out. She didn't know when it started – fifth year maybe or maybe it had just been there all along and she never paid much mind to it.

And Ron, who so often looked at all the evidence and come to the wrong conclusion, had been _so right_ tonight. When it came down to it, Hermione would _always_, no doubt about it, choose Harry. She had always chosen Harry.

Her and Harry just fit, if tonight was any proof of that. How long had they gone on brainstorming together and finishing each other's sentences? This wasn't the first time they had done it or likely the last. Even their names fit together, _Harry and Hermione_, it just felt right, felt like the soul mate, meant to be kind of love.

Hermione allowed herself in the midst of all her pain and all the hurt, to admit the one thing she had been trying to fight and deny for nearly seven years: she was in love with Harry Potter. The soul mate kind and yet, they were on opposite sides of the tent tonight, wallowing by themselves.

The thought brought her back from her musings and she turned her head to stare at the lump she knew to be Harry, buried underneath many blankets. She wanted to go to him, needed to go to him – but there was so much space between them and Hermione couldn't possibly think of a way to cross it.

Finally she found her voice and softly called, "Harry?" The blankets didn't move. Her voice grew a bit bolder and she called again, "Harry?" He rolled over and through the firelight, Hermione could barely see his face. "Do you think I-"

"Come here Hermione."

It sounded like an order, an exasperated one, but an order nonetheless. Slightly miffed, Hermione stood and walked closer to him where she could see the faint tracks on his face where tears had slid during the moments after the fight. Her anger melted away: she knew he wasn't frustrated with her, but the situation. Ron had a knack of leaving them at the worst times.

Hermione climbed underneath the blankets with Harry and lay next to him, staring at the dark canvas roof. It was much warmer under here and Hermione wondered why she had never done this before. Minutes passed and neither one of them seemed eager to say anything and the silence began to get uncomfortable. She knew Harry had questions and she knew she wouldn't want to answer some of them.

Finally she opened her mouth and said, "When did things get so complicated?" It wasn't what she wanted to ask, her cowardliness left off the_, with us,_ that she so desperately wanted to ask.

Harry's eyes never left the roof of the tent. "I reckon it happened sometime last year or even the year before."

Hermione's eyes watered again; she knew that was also when their relationship had become complicated and strained. It was when she began trying to suppress everything she felt for Harry.

"Why didn't you leave too Hermione?"

The question sounded so lost and forlorn. Hermione turned her head and looked at him for the first time since Ron had yelled at both of them. Gone was the man she was becoming accustomed to and in it's place was the young boy she met on the Hogwarts Express, who only wanted to have friends for the first time in his life. "Oh Harry-"

She rolled over and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. The tears came easily now. They were so alone and even here, with him she never felt farther from him. She felt his arms wrap around her, comfort her like she wished he had earlier. She pulled back enough to see his face. "I would never leave you," she said firmly. "Just like you would never leave me."

And she thought back to moment last year. She had stormed out of Potions, leaving her things behind. Harry had gathered up her books and quills and brought them to her, offering her the silent comfort of a real friend. She had never even asked him to do it, but he did it all the same. It was one of those things that made him Harry.

She also thought of when she had been so angry and Ron and Lavender kissing that she left the common room. Harry was the only one who came after her, wanting to make sure she was alright.

As she stared into his eyes that were beginning to come back from that place of utter loneliness, Hermione knew that she would never ever leave him. She didn't care about what Ron thought or felt – he had left them, sealed the deal. She was going to have Harry to herself and she would make sure he saw that they were meant to be together.

The soul mate kind of way.

She was looking into his eyes, the slightest of smiles on her face, when the look in his eyes changed. His eyes had been lightening, returning from hurt and pain but now they darkened and his pupils dilated. The look was raw and animalistic; Hermione was certain she had never seen that look before in Harry's eyes. For a full minute she stared at him, her breathing getting heavier in fear. What if this was the last straw? What if all her comforting had been for nothing?

He was watching her every move, like she was his prey and when he finally moved, it was too fast for even her to see.

He had rolled her over so quickly the air was knocked out of her. He was pinning her to the bed, his hands holding her arms above her head, his hips grinding against hers painfully. The fear grew. Was this going to be the end? Harry was an exceptionally powerful wizard; she had every right to be scared.

But before she could get any words out, he kissed her.

It wasn't sweet or chaste in any way – it was a kiss full of passion, lust, and love. It was harsh and demanding, bred out of betrayal and pain, but there was something in it that was still gentle – a kind of concoction that Hermione knew only Harry could manage. It wasn't the kind of kiss that made your head swirl or lights dance behind your eyes – that was only for fairy tales and silly stories.

It was the kind of kiss that made you aware. Aware that they were inexplicably alone, in the middle of nowhere, and that they were lying together in a bed. She was held beneath him and there wasn't a part of her body that didn't touch his. The places that did were on fire. He was everywhere and she couldn't get enough. She silently cursed that there were so many layers of clothing between them and then rebuked the thought. _This shouldn't be happening anyway!_

He pushed his hips forward to show her exactly how he felt and what he wanted. She gasped a little, shocked that he was this affected by a kiss and with her at the very least. Harry took that moment to deepen the kiss and Hermione was lost again. It was explorative and left her wanting more, so much more. She knew that if Harry had asked her of something at the moment, she would give it him.

His lips left her mouth and trailed to her jawline and then up to her earlobe. He kept his mouth there for a moment and simply breathed. The rush of air sent chills down her spine and she could feel and warmth pooling between her legs. _Merlin, was that all it took? A breath?_ Then his lips were on her ear, nibbling and sucking and moving down to her neck where they hit a spot that made Hermione let out a moan she had never uttered before.

It was primitive and raw, so much like the look that Harry had given her before he – well, before he _attacked_ her. Harry pushed forward with his hips again; clearly he liked what he had heard. Hermione surprised herself by allowing her hips to rise up and push back.

Harry let out what could only be described as a growl before he left go of her arms and yanked her thick, woolen jumper over her head. The freezing air hit her skin and gave her goosebumps. She reached her hands up to do the same to him, but found that he merely took them in his hands and held them out of the way again.

His lips hit her collarbone and Hermione let her head roll back. If Harry didn't hurry up, she was going to explode. She wanted this and somewhere she thought that she had always wanted this. Them, together, was simply right. She felt his hand cup her breast and even through the fabric in her bra, she felt burned. She arched her back and pressed her breast into his hand, wanting more.

Harry obliged and reached behind her back to release the clasp on her bra. He stuggled with it for a second before getting frustrated and simply ripping the thing off of her. Hermione was startled, but when Harry's mouth hit her breast she forgot about it. _They could always mend it tomorrow anyway._ He moved from one to the other, licking and sucking, driving her mad. She wanted to touch him, to feel him, but her hands were still pinned above her head.

He looked up at her and she again caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were so full of lust that she couldn't take it anymore and gave a mighty heave with her body. She pushed forward and, surprised, Harry let go of her arms. They instantly went to his shirt, pulling it off him quickly, allowing her fingers to wander across his gently muscled chest. It was chiseled or rock hard like she had so often read in _those_ kinds of novels. It was smooth but strong and Hermione delighted in feeling them quiver underneath her fingertips.

Her hands slid down his chest to the button on his jeans where they hesitated. They had gone so far already but go they really go any further? It was Harry who made the decision for her, he reached down and unbutton his jeans. He pushed them off his hips and down his thighs until the fell in a puddle to the floor. He reached forward and quickly did the same to her jeans.

Curiosity overcame her and she reached forward and took him into her hands. He was hard and from what she could see in his eyes, very ready. She already knew she was. A low guttural growl came from his throat and she could see just how much he wanted her right now, how much he wanted this.

She allowed him to push her back down onto the bed roughly, allowed him to take hold on her hands again. _Merlin she was going to have bruises there tomorrow._ He caught her lips with his own again for a second before dropping down to her neck. He sucked lightly then harder until she felt a moan escaping her lips again. He looked up triumphant, as if that had been what he wanted all along.

He angled his hips forward and in one hard, decisive push, thrusted inside of her quickly. Pain dazed Hermione's eyes for a moment but the knowledge that this pain felt good, overrode her mind telling her to stop. He pulled out slowly before pushing back inside her again, just as hard and just as fast.

Her head rolled from side to side as the pleasure inside her rose. She didn't know whether it was seconds, minutes, or even hours, but she quickly felt a rising pressure and sought for some release. Harry seemed to feel this and, if it was possible, pushed harder and faster into her. Her whole body was shaking, her muscles were clenching and the release she had felt suddenly came. Harry stilled for a moment, tense, and then relaxed as his release came.

He let go of her hands seconds later and rolled over so he was lying next to her. They went back to staring at the dark canvas roof, their breathing slowly coming back to normal. Hermione felt warmer than she ever had before. A light sweat had broken out on her body and when she looked over at the wizard stretched out next to her, his body was shining in the firelight with sweat.

His head turned towards hers and their eyes met. There were no words needed; they both knew they had wanted this, both knew they needed it, and they both knew the consequences of whatever _this_ was. And what was it? That was the question she needed answered. Was this simply desperation? A yearning for some comfort after the wrenching pain and unfaithfulness Ron had showed? And where was her regret?

He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead. This kiss was everything the first wasn't. Sweet, pure, and full of something she couldn't even begin to describe. He pulled her into his arms until they finally found a spot where they were both comfortable. Hermione pushed back until she was sure there was no more space between her and Harry. As exhaustion swept over her, her heart reached out to him; everything would be fine. They would get through this together. They didn't need him. And they would figure their _thing_ out along the way.

After all, Ron had made his choice.

And she had made hers.


End file.
